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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134284">Five times Rupert Giles encountered the First and one time he didn't</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/old_fashioned_gal/pseuds/Jaspergirl'>Jaspergirl (old_fashioned_gal)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Season/Series 07, not compliant with the comics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:15:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134284</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/old_fashioned_gal/pseuds/Jaspergirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The First torments Giles in various guises.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rupert Giles/Ethan Rayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I own none of this and am making no profit. I was just looking for things to do in lockdown and here it was.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had started to strike Rupert Giles at odd moments that for the vast majority of people of earth, life continued much as normal. None of the people in this supermarket, for instance, were aware of the growing danger.</p>
<p>It was a condition he’d envied as a child, relived of his innocence by the revelation that the monsters under the bed were real. He had sought to emulate that blissful ignorance, as a young man, turning his back on the Council and refusing any part in their cause.</p>
<p>Which was really exactly what they had done to him today; on hearing that the slayer line – that fine line between sentient, ensouled life on earth and violent hell – was in under attack, the Council’s response had been muted at best. A committee, he’d been told, would look into it. No amount of pleading on his part had been enough to cut through the bureaucracy and invoke any sense of urgency. And in the meantime, girls would keep dying.</p>
<p>But not Molly, Annabelle and Kennedy not if he could help it.</p>
<p>It was a long-standing practice in the Council that no member, no matter what the level of their security clearance, knew the identity of more than a handful of potential slayers. Giles wasn’t sure what the maximum was, but he’d been privy to the identities of four. Nora was dead, but the other three were still out there, and Giles intended to reach them before the Bringers did. How he’d find the countless others out there, he’d have to worry about later. Perhaps the coven could help.</p>
<p>In the meantime, there was Molly, recently moved to her new watcher in Leeds, and Annabelle in rural Cornwall. Hard to decide who to collect first but Annabelle was older and had been in training since early childhood; possibly she could hold out a little longer if it came to that. So here Giles was, stopping en route to Leeds to buy something with caffeine in it in an effort to wake up enough to carry on driving.</p>
<p>It was late and the place was almost deserted; a few bored women at the tills – Girls, really, but perhaps they just looked young to him. Increasingly, Giles found that anyone under twenty five looked too young to be doing whatever they happened to be doing. There was another customer, too, who Giles had barely glanced at – that is, confirmed was not a Bringer – as he made his way to the soft drinks aisle.</p>
<p>A bizarre stipulation of modern consumerism, that anyone should feel any need to keep this place open twenty-four hours. Staring at the selection of energy drinks now, he chose the least offensive option and turned to head to the tills, just as the place’s only other customer rounded the corner and came fully into view.</p>
<p>Giles stared: it was Ethan.</p>
<p>Ethan, who plainly hadn’t seen him, considering the spirits and wines with every appearance of making a momentous decision. For just a moment, it was tempting to turn the other way, to pretend he hadn’t seen his former – well, former so many things – but then Giles found himself heading towards the mage before he’d quite decided to what to say.</p>
<p>What he did say, seeing Ethan crouching down to examine a bottle of Baileys, was “I wouldn’t if I were you. Remember that time I almost took you to A and E?”</p>
<p>Ethan stood up quickly. “Christmas party” he explained. “I still don’t touch the stuff. What are you doing in Tesco’s arse end of nowhere branch, Ripper?”</p>
<p>“I’m on my way t – never mind.” He was more tired than he’d realised, Giles supposed, to almost share his destination with Ethan Rayne of all people. Ethan who was suddenly looking worryingly interested in whatever he’d almost said. Giles quickly distracted him with, “Christmas party? Whatever happened to worshiping chaos?”</p>
<p>“Well Christmas has a lot of scope for Chaos.” Ethan grinned. “But officially I’m just in it for the party. And I’m supposed to bring toffee vodka for this cocktail but I can’t find any. Do you think Baileys would do instead?”</p>
<p>And there it was again: for everyone else, this was a normal day. Giles watched Ethan crouch down again to consider the bottles of Baileys without reaching for one. Perhaps, for Ethan, the stuff was still so tainted from the memory of being as dangerously drunk as Giles had ever seen him that he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to buy any. Giles asked, “When is the party?”</p>
<p>“Tonight. You look tired, Rupert.”</p>
<p>“I am tired” Giles held up the energy drink as evidence and Ethan wrinkled his nose at it. He asked, “You’re not driving, are you?”</p>
<p>“I’m not so tired I can’t drive” Giles replied, “And since when were you so concerned about safety?”</p>
<p>“Since the world got dangerous.”</p>
<p>“It was always dangerous.”</p>
<p>“Not like this.” Ethan straightened up again. “I think the Baileys would change the texture too much. I’ll have to try somewhere else.”</p>
<p>“You ought to have done this before tonight.” Giles frowned. “Aren’t you getting late?” It had to be past ten.</p>
<p>“Fashionably late” Ethan agreed.</p>
<p>“That or just disorganised” Giles smiled. It had been awhile since he’d had a conversation this amiable with Ethan; between Halloween curses, candy curses and demonic transmogrification curses there had been more than ample reason to kick the mage’s arse the last few times they’d met. It was nice to just bicker comfortably. Nostalgic.</p>
<p>Perhaps Ethan was thinking the same, because he smiled too; one of his rare genuine beams. “You could come with me if you like” he offered, “You look like you could use a party.”</p>
<p>Giles shook his head. “I can’t.”</p>
<p>“Why not? No harm in unwinding.” Ethan nodded to the energy drink and added, “And there’ll be better drinks than that”</p>
<p>“That’s not saying much; I’m sure there are better drinks than this in the average demon dimension.”</p>
<p>Ethan laughed, but then repeated, “You do look tired.”</p>
<p>“I’m alright.”</p>
<p>“You’re going to need to be more than alright, to deal with what’s coming.”</p>
<p>Giles frowned. “What do you know about that?”</p>
<p>Ethan shrugged, his genuine smile slipping into a more familiar sneer. “From beneath you it devours.” He stepped away as though to leave, and Giles shot out a hand to stall him.</p>
<p>It went straight through his shoulder.</p>
<p>Giles froze. Ethan – not Ethan, God, not Ethan at all – turned back to face him, slowly. The smile was cruel now. “I said something about being fashionably late?” he – it – said.</p>
<p>“Ethan…” Giles breathed. God, what had happened?</p>
<p>The First shrugged. “I thought it was funny” Its voice perfectly mimicked Ethan’s semi-serious hurt tone. “I’m trying to meet you half way with the puns here, love” Suddenly he was young. Giles blinked at the transformation: Ethan aged perhaps twenty, lithe and outrageously dressed, wicked eyes gleaming. “Oh, and there is no party” The First added. “That comes later. When’s there’s bones to dance on.”</p>
<p>“What –” Giles bit back the question. He couldn’t trust the First’s account of whatever fate had befallen Ethan, and he was wasting time here. Which, for all he knew, was what the First wanted. With a shattering effort, he turned and walked away.</p>
<p>Walked out of the supermarket, jerking to a stop only as one of the girls by the tills called, “Oi, aren’t you going to pay for that?”</p>
<p>Giles looked down the length of his arm. He was still carrying the blasted energy drink. He set it down at the nearest till and left empty handed. He wouldn’t need help staying awake now.</p>
<p>Outside, he leant against the wall for a brief moment, brick at his back reminding him suddenly of alleyways long ago. He felt robbed. Ethan was dead. Dead and Giles hadn’t even known. Surely he should have felt it? How could Ethan not be out there and he hadn’t even realised?</p>
<p>Taking a deep breath, Giles headed back to his car, his steps faltering when he saw the tall figure loitering beside it. He paused, but it wasn’t as though he had any choice but to return to the vehicle. He walked towards the figure.</p>
<p>Now, Ethan – the Not-Ethan – was older. Older than Giles had ever seen him look, in fact, and terribly thin. The worn and nondescript clothing he – it – wore were certainly not something Ethan would have chosen. A little like hospital garments. The hair, too, wasn’t Ethan’s style at all: a close cut, interrupted by an ugly row of stiches. It was fading to grey.</p>
<p>The apparition smirked. “You know” it said, by way of greeting, “I’m surprised you didn’t check. I mean, you were there when the Sunnydale operation shut down. You must have thought about it.”</p>
<p>Giles felt his mouth go dry. Without meaning to speak, he said, “The Initiative.”</p>
<p>Not-Ethan nodded. “I did try to warn you old man. And you see how you repaid me?”</p>
<p>“But you…He…” Giles clenched his fists, willing himself to be silent. This was the First, he remined himself, the orchestrator of humanity’s greatest threat. Foolish to let his guard down around it. Silence was the best recourse. No matter how bewildered he felt at the prospect of an Ethan-less world. No matter how horrified he felt at the thought of Ethan…But surely he’d escaped the Initiative? He must have done: he was a powerful warlock and they, utterly ignorant about magic. Whatever had killed Ethan, it can’t have been…</p>
<p>It can’t have been Rupert Giles.</p>
<p>“It was an accident, you know” the First continued, “Some miscalculation with the chemicals.” The apparition’s eyelids swelled suddenly and sickeningly, and its skin turned blotchy. “I’d say it was over quickly, but, well, you know me old chap: honesty is one of my virtues.” It paled beneath livid blotches.</p>
<p>Giles looked away quickly, rooting in his pocket for his car keys.</p>
<p>Not-Ethan said simply, “You did this to me.”</p>
<p>Giles flinched. Forced himself to say, “Not to <em>you</em>.”</p>
<p>“I thought you loved me, once. And then at the very least I thought you didn’t hate me. But then again, it wasn’t hate so much as indifference, really, was it?”</p>
<p>“No, it –” Giles forced himself to stop because this was the First he was explaining himself to, not Ethan. It would never be Ethan again. He forced himself to step around Ethan’s shade to get to the car, which he opened with trembling hands. Sitting down in the driver’s seat he found he couldn’t move. Couldn’t put the keys to the ignition. Couldn’t reach for the gear stick.</p>
<p>Ethan was dead. And it was his fault.</p>
<p>And other people would be dead too, if he didn’t get a move on. Giles blinked fiercely and made himself start the engine. He pulled away from the Ethan-shaped thing that stood beside the car. By now its eyes were sealed and the lips had started to puff up too. The blotchy rash had been replaced by a greyish, bloodless pale.</p>
<p>Giles gripped the steering wheel hard all the way to Leeds and concentrated on feeling nothing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With the girls asleep in the adjourning room at the airport hotel, Giles allowed himself to acknowledge that the calm he felt was not stoicism so much as shock.</p>
<p>He knew the Council was gone but he couldn’t believe it. It simply couldn’t be so.</p>
<p>Not quite gone, he reminded himself firmly. He was still here. So was Robson, at least for now, at least if he survived. Really, he had to survive because no-one else had. No watchers stationed elsewhere that Giles had been able to trace, and that was hardly surprising given the recent spate of Bringer-brought deaths and the fact that the surviving field agents had been expected at the meeting. Even most of the retirees had been at that meeting, reactivated on an emergency basis.</p>
<p>Some of them, Giles knew, would be glad to have gone that way, violently. Some of the old guard had a warrior-like streak about them, hailing as they had from a time when everyone was expected to serve a stint in the field. He pictured them in Valhalla, or something like an oak panelled version of it.</p>
<p>“I should have listened to you, Rupert.”</p>
<p>Giles jumped: at the foot of the bed stood Quentin Travers. Awful how familiar he looked, in his tweed suit, in this impersonal hotel room. Like a piece of home. Albeit a condescending one.</p>
<p>Travers – not Travers, not really – continued, “I blame myself. I never quite trusted you – well, that’s no secret – and it wasn’t as though anyone else was raising the alarm. But then, no-one had quite the understanding of the underworld that you have, Rupert.” A typically double-edged compliment. Travers was, Giles realised, the last person to routinely call him “Rupert”. He didn’t reply, refused to give the First the dignity of conversation.</p>
<p>The Travers-shape sighed heavily. “And then it was too late. All too late. And now the Council is no more.” He stepped closer, around the side of the bed, hovered awkwardly as though pondering whether or not to sit and deciding not to. “Millenia of knowledge” he mused.</p>
<p>Undeniable, that: Generations of occult knowledge had been reduced to ash. How, Giles wondered, could he hope to achieve anything now? No organisation had stood against the forces of darkness so long as the Watchers’ Council. Their loss was more than a blow; it felt like an omen.</p>
<p>“Of course, you have some books” Travers commented. “That’s something.”</p>
<p>Giles didn’t answer, leaning back against the headboard and refusing to look at the First directly. If it didn’t already know which books had survived, it wouldn’t find out from him. There may be little hope for humanity now, but that was a poor excuse to surrender.</p>
<p>“How many exactly?” queried Travers’ shade. Met with silence it continued, “Upwards of fifty million volumes were lost, of course, but in the short term, you’ll only have call to use a handful of those.”</p>
<p>There was a pause for Giles to comprehend that a handful of fifty million was probably a little more than the number he’d been able to steal following the meeting. The First added, “That’s the short term though; in the long term, every last one of those fifty million, six hundred and ninety-eight thousand seven hundred and twelve volumes will be missed at some point. Did you know more than a tenth had been instrumental in preventing apocalypses? Think about it; more than a tenth!”</p>
<p>It was a misstep on the First’s part, Giles noted, to think he’d care all that much about the books right now. Later, certainly. But right now, he cared about the people – colleagues, family friends, former classmates – to the point that any loss of literature, no matter how catastrophic, was muted. The books mattered only insofar as they could have been used to save more lives.</p>
<p>Then again, how was the First to understand that?</p>
<p>He wondered if Travers really had known the exact number of texts the library had contained or if the First knew without reference to Travers’ mind. If the former, did the First learn it after his death or before? Did it gain knowledge with each death or – given it existed in all human minds – did it already know what Travers knew? Did it already know what Giles knew?</p>
<p>“And the girls” the First pointed out. “I wish I’d trusted you with more names; three isn’t enough and you’ve not much hope of finding more.”</p>
<p>The coven; the coven was their hope. Giles didn’t answer least the Bringers descend on the witches there.</p>
<p>The First was now looking towards the door that separated his room and Molly and Annabelle’s, and Giles, feeling a surge of protective instinct, distracted it with, “I know you’re not him. This is going to become rather tiresome”</p>
<p>“Indeed it is” Not-Travers agreed, “But I can assure you, you’ll tire first.” It morphed then, changed to a different tweed clad figure and Giles found himself staring at his cousin Bert.</p>
<p>Bert grinned. Giles looked away. Not Bert, he reminded himself.</p>
<p>“Awful, isn’t it?” Bert’s voice reached him. “And poor you, Rupert, you’re the only one left, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>Giles risked a glance: it wasn’t looking at the door – good – and was instead staring thoughtfully at him.</p>
<p>“The last Giles” it said with Bert’s voice. “Sounds almost grand.”</p>
<p>Giles looked away again.</p>
<p>“Awful, though.” It continued. “That’s a lot of funerals to organise. You are going to organise them, aren’t you? I know you’re busy, old thing, but you at least owe me that much. I did teach you to fence.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t” Giles spoke quietly, addressing the opposite wall. “My cousin Bert did. You aren’t him and I’m not falling for this.”<br/>The Bert shaped thing looked cheerfully entertained. “It could be worse” he said, “At least the girls are trained. Well, Annabelle is.”</p>
<p>And Kennedy, when they reached her. Assuming the Bringers didn’t reach her first.</p>
<p>The First added, “Molly is less tested. But then, they’re all about to be put to the most comprehensive test imaginable, aren’t they? And so young.”</p>
<p>It was true that both girls were inexperienced but Giles refused to show any agreement. Refused too to point out that if the First were as confident as it implied, why was it here trying to scare him? Best not to antagonise it into a show of force. Best to say nothing.</p>
<p>Bert’s stolen voice reached his ears again: “Poor things. At least you and I had something close to a youth worth having. Well, you especially. Who’d have thought it would be <em>you</em> left at the end? If someone had told me when we were both twenty-three that you’d be in the final battle, I’d have assumed you’d be fighting on the opposite side.”</p>
<p>“You’re not Bert” Giles repeated. He studied the pattern on the hotel’s duvet. Perhaps if he feigned boredom the First wouldn’t use Bert’s form again.</p>
<p>But then, he’d never hear his cousin’s voice again would he?</p>
<p>The First chuckled. “Not to worry, old thing, I’ll leave you in peace: you look like you could use it and you won’t have it long.” It moved as if to leave and made a show of pausing at the last minute, just as Bert would have if he’d suddenly thought of something else to say. “You know you’ve still got a few months. Why don’t you just admit defeat early and take these girls off somewhere nice? Let them have a little fun before the inevitable. No-one could blame you.”</p>
<p>No-one would be left to blame him. Giles bit back the reply he’d like to make – and there were a great many things he wanted to say to the First today – and said nothing. But he thought of the three girls: Molly, identified at the age of twelve and Annabelle when she was just eight, and Kennedy, soon to join them, who’d been in training almost as long as Annabelle. Remarkable that between them they’d lost so many formative years that should have been carefree, and yet gained so little actual experience against demons. How oddly relieving it would be if he could just know for sure that they were going to lose. Then he could take the girls somewhere beautiful to live out their final days.</p>
<p>But that was not the case: there was still hope, for humanity in general and these girls in particular. It was even still possible that they wouldn’t have to fight, that Buffy could do all that for them.</p>
<p>He looked up to confront the First with a glare. <em>You’re not looking at your friend</em>, he’d told Xander once, <em>you’re looking at the thing that killed him</em>.</p>
<p>“Just a thought” the First told him. “I’d have thought you’d want to let them have a bit of happiness.” It morphed into Randall. “But then again, you’ve never been as merciful as most people think, have you Ripper?”</p>
<p>Stunned by the sudden transformation, Giles simply stared. Randall, Randall here, now, dressed in the height of fashion if fashion had been swept twenty years back in time. Randall looking heartbreakingly young. “God. Randall, I –” And he stopped himself; this wasn’t Randall.</p>
<p>“You what?” Not-Randall prompted. Impossibly, his voice was both familiar and unknown: Giles must have forgotten what he sounded like without realising it. “What, Ripper? ‘I killed you’? ‘I’m sorry’? Hey, do you reckon you’ll see them again? Bert and the others I mean. I mean, they’ve probably gone up to heaven where all the boring people go – but will you? Or are you off to the other place when the First is done?”</p>
<p>Giles told himself he didn’t care. But of course he did. Who wouldn’t? Randall’s shade added, “Because I can’t quite see you making the pearly gates. Not after…” It broke off with a horrible gurgle, blood frothing at its lips, a cut slitting open at its throat. Blood spurted from the wound, hit nothing, vanished. As did Randall after a second of tortured, silent, screaming, leaving Giles to get up and make his way to the en-suite to be sick as quietly as he could. It wouldn’t do to wake the girls.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So…they thought <em>you </em>were <em>me</em>?”</p>
<p>Giles jumped at that voice and then felt grateful that the children had all left already: Anya, Xander, Dawn and Andrew back to Sunnydale and…</p>
<p>…And the potential slayers still in the desert. Had the First brought its servants with it? Suddenly afraid, he turned to it.</p>
<p>Angelus’ smile was all malice.</p>
<p>“I’ve gotta say, Rupert, that doesn’t say anything about you that <em>you’d </em>want said.” It regarded him, and something about the way it was framed by the star pitted desert sky made it look eternal, and made Giles feel small.</p>
<p>Should he warn the girls? But what was the point, if the First was alone? And if their experience with the spirit guide was interrupted, they’d have gained nothing from the risk of being out here, exposed.</p>
<p>He stared around at the desert landscape: no sign of Bringers, or worse. But there wouldn’t be, would there? Shoes didn’t squeak out here.</p>
<p>“I’d say that’s a wake up call” the First chided in Angelus’ mocking tone. “I mean, it’s one thing to be a little distant, it’s another to be mistaken for the First Evil. That’s a whole new level of reserved.”</p>
<p>It had a point, Giles supposed. One of the things that had shocked him as a newly minted watcher all those years ago was the fact that if something was evil, that didn’t automatically mean it was lying.</p>
<p>“Maybe it’s because they don’t need you anymore” The thing beside him mused cheerfully. “But even then, not one hug? That’s gotta hurt.”</p>
<p>Ordinarily he wouldn’t engage it, but Giles didn’t want its attention to shift to where the girls were. He replied, “Well there’s hardly time for heartfelt reunions and group therapy. You’ve seen to that.”</p>
<p>“Group therapy? What’ve they lost? You’ve lost every last relation and they were more worried about the books.”</p>
<p>“So would my every last relation be.” Giles studied the rocks, the sky, anything other than Angelus’ mimic. It unnerved him to see Angel’s face grin; he hadn’t seen the vampire this happy since that unspeakable night.</p>
<p>“Still, it’s gotta piss you off. Them chatting away like everything’s normal. Them not troubling to touch you until they thought you might be <em>me</em>. Why do you bother with them?”</p>
<p>“Why do you insist on asking questions you couldn’t possibly understand the answer to?”</p>
<p>The First ignored that. “After everything you’ve sacrificed for them, they take months to even wonder if you’re dead or not. After everything you’ve sacrificed for her.”</p>
<p>“You’re wasting your time: I’m not going to abandon Buffy.”</p>
<p>“Why not? She’s abandoned you.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Really, if this is your pitch, you’ll have nothing to show for it.”</p>
<p>The shape of Angelus shifted, invaded Giles’ view. The grin was still in place as it asked, “Would you rather I spoke to someone else? Maybe the girls…Oh, I see I have your attention now.” And there was Angelus’ cruel laugh. “What? You thought I didn’t know where they are? I know. They’re off on their pathetic spirit quest. You thought I didn’t know that?”</p>
<p>Giles swallowed, met the thing’s eyes properly for the first time. What to say, to keep it occupied? “I assume you know everything” he told it, trying to sound neutral, trying to sound terribly unprovocative. “Given that you’re a part of every human, that it.”</p>
<p>“Every human that ever was” the First confirmed with a grin. “And a lot else besides. I was a part of Liam. I’m a part of Angelus.” Here it slipped Angel’s fangs out before popping them back in again to finish, “And I’m a part of the sum of those parts. Your slayer doesn’t get it: Angel isn’t good. No-one is, not completely.”</p>
<p>“Then no-one is completely irredeemable either.” The First hadn’t, Giles noted, confirmed or denied that its knowledge was limitless.</p>
<p>“Some are” It replied. “I’ve been around a long time. I’ve met some truly despicable men.” It was hard to tell if it was speaking for itself or play-acting Angel. It went on, “Even your slayer: even she has evil in her. She forgave me, after all.”</p>
<p>Ah: so this was a pretence at being Angel then. Giles responded, “I wouldn’t speak of forgiveness, if I were you. It never comes over well to speak of something you know nothing about.”</p>
<p>“You think I don’t know? What, you think there’s no evil in forgiveness? Forgiveness always has victims when it’s forced. When it’s brought about by necessity and social niceties and what it really comes down to is putting aside all that hurt and saying it doesn’t matter when it. Still. Does.” Angel’s gaze was intense for a second before the First flicked his malevolent grin and took a step back, incorporeal hands in incorporeal pockets. “No, trust me: I know forgiveness.” The grin slipped into something that would have been sympathetic on a different face. “I know what it cost you. I know the thoughts that chased each other around in your mind when you woke up screaming months later and she’d decided everything he’d done didn’t matter.”</p>
<p>“Forgiveness isn’t the same as thinking a transgression doesn’t matter. Buffy understands that.”</p>
<p>“A transgression? Such a terribly bloodless word, Rupert, when there was so much screaming. And I know what it takes to make you scream.”</p>
<p>“Do you? Well you don’t know much else about me, if you think this is going to work.”</p>
<p>“Ah, don’t mind me” Angel’s smile was taunting now, and Giles wondered briefly if there was any version of it that was simply friendly, and if Buffy had ever seen it. The First told him, “I’m just idling. That’s what we’re all doing really, until the time comes. All this spirit guide crap? Well if that’s what they want to do, let ’em. They don’t have much time after all.” With that, it consumed itself, contorting its borrowed corpse until it disappeared into a pinprick of unnatural light and then was gone, leaving Giles to kick a loose pebble that also disappeared, into the desert’s endless darkness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This was on my bucket list.”</p>
<p>Not that voice. Please not that one.</p>
<p>But if he showed any horror, the First would be all the more motivated to steal this precious form again, so Giles forced his expression into neutral before he looked up from his phrase book to see the First in Jenny’s form. It gestured out the window of the sleeper train. It smiled. “Come on – you, me, China. I’d have loved this.”</p>
<p>If Giles looked closely, he could see that it wasn’t quite touching the seat it appeared to be occupying. He did look closely, prompting it to say, “Hey, England – my eyes are up here.”</p>
<p>Its eyes were too much like Jenny’s; it hurt to meet them. Instead, Giles looked around the carriage: in the opposite berth, a couple slept, he in the top bunk, she underneath, curled around her luggage. From the reflection in his window, Giles could reassure himself that Chao-Ahn still slept in the bunk above his own without drawing the First’s attention to her.</p>
<p>“I guess that train left the station already” the First mused. “I mean, what with me being dead and all, I don’t think I’m gonna make that round-the-world trip.”</p>
<p>Giles felt his heart rate increase: It was true he’d indulged in happy daydreams of taking Jenny travelling. Did the First know that? Was it reading his mind or was this just a lucky guess?</p>
<p>Or, did it have access to Jenny’s memories? Had she had happy daydreams too?</p>
<p>Jenny’s form asked him, “You’re not giving me the silent treatment, are you? Because I could always talk to her.” A casual upwards gesture indicated Chao-Ahn’s bunk.</p>
<p>“That won’t be necessary” Giles sat up straighter and finally met its eyes.</p>
<p>Jenny’s eyes. Jenny’s smile. He swallowed thickly.</p>
<p>“What I want to know” the First began, “is what happened next. After I was killed, I mean.”</p>
<p>“Not you. You weren’t killed.”</p>
<p>The First huffed a sigh. “Whatever. Her then. But just so you know, I am a part of her. I’m a part of everyone.”</p>
<p>“Really? And I’m supposed to simply take your word for that?”</p>
<p>“You know it. Deep down.” Jenny’s stolen face gave him a playful wink and then the First leaned forward. “But I was talking about how I was murdered. You remember that, right?” It moved closer still. “Do you still dream about it? Do you dream about me?”</p>
<p>The answer was yes thrice: yes, Giles dreamt about Jenny, yes, he had nightmares about her murder and yes, he had nightmares about the First. But he wasn’t inclined to share any of that with it. Instead he remarked, “You know I’ve been tortured before. Angelus still has the edge on you.”</p>
<p>“This is torture?”</p>
<p>“Seeing you in her form is hardly pleasant. But you knew that already.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Rupert, it’s just that she really wanted to be here. This is the next best thing.”</p>
<p>“I beg to differ.”</p>
<p>“How about me, then?” It morphed into Ethan’s form. “I’m no Jenny Calendar but I’m sure we could make do. And I wanted to be here too. Really, I wanted to be anywhere that wasn’t a white-walled cell.”</p>
<p>“Get lost.”</p>
<p>“Ooh.” Jenny was back. Not Jenny. “Not your sharpest come back, Rupert. Still, you’re tired. I’ll let it slide. But seriously” It smiled sweetly “My murder: My neck was broken and I was left in your bed. Hey, just for the record, I’d have ended up there anyway – but that’s not the point.”</p>
<p>“What is the point?” Giles did his best to sound bored.</p>
<p>“The point is Little Miss Slayer did diddly squat to avenge me. I <em>died </em>and a few months later she was macking on my murderer. Doesn’t that make you angry?”</p>
<p>The real Jenny wouldn’t need to ask that. Giles hoped. But this was not the real Jenny and its agenda was clear. “This again. You stir up old wounds and I turn against Buffy: not terribly original, I must say. And not your first attempt. One might be tempted to suppose you’ve run out of ideas” And yet it was still trying. This, it occurred to Giles, meant that the First saw him as useful to Buffy. Almost reassuring, that.</p>
<p>“It’s worth talking about.” Not-Jenny shrugged. “It’s not like you’re an easy guy to read. I mean, I think you might have grieved for me at some point, but –”</p>
<p>“I –” Giles coughed, to cover almost saying, <em>I did. I do</em>. A foolish mistake, but it looked so like Jenny.</p>
<p>“You what?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think you’re going to achieve much, with this tactic. If I didn’t turn against Buffy at the time, I’m unlikely to now, aren’t I?”</p>
<p>It smiled Jenny’s smile and then changed into Tara. It occurred to Giles for the first time that Jenny and Tara had had similar smiles. And that they’d get on well: odd, that he’d never thought about it before.</p>
<p>Tara’s shape told him, “I guess I should have, um, guessed that. You and Buffy, you’re, it’s sweet really. Or it was. I guess things change, don – don’t they?”</p>
<p>Giles said nothing. He was taken aback by how much it hurt to see Tara. Nothing should have been difficult to cope with after Jenny. He glanced at the reflection in the opposite window again: Chao-Ahn still slept soundly.</p>
<p>Tara’s voice added, “I’d have loved this too. I always wanted to travel. Do, do you remember I was jealous of you for going to England?”</p>
<p>Giles restricted himself to a curt nod, hoping to keep its attention away from the potential slayer without properly engaging.</p>
<p>It went on, “Willow and I almost went to Oxford, did you know that?”</p>
<p>This was surprising enough that Giles looked at her (it). The First explained, “It was after Buffy died. Willow got into Oxford back when she was applying for colleges and we th-thought she could do a post-grad degree there. We didn’t want to say to you at first because it was too far in the future but then we didn’t say because we, we’d decided to stay and get Buffy back. But I wondered if she’d said anything?”</p>
<p>“No” Giles responded quietly.</p>
<p>“Well obviously it didn’t happen anyway.” The Tara-shape paused as the train shuddered over a section of aging track. They were getting deeper into the countryside now; the darkness outside thick where earlier it had been porous with light pollution. The First added, “It was wrong, wasn’t it? Raising Buffy. We shouldn’t have done that.”</p>
<p>Giles wondered if Tara herself had felt that way. He wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or saddened that she’d never shared such thoughts with him; he knew that feeling himself, the impossible contradiction of joy at Buffy’s return and horror at how it had happened.</p>
<p>The First added, “It, it was Willow mostly. I mean, we were involved too – I don’t want you to think it was only her – but it was her idea.” The First paused and fixed Giles with Tara’s uncertain gaze. Giles looked away, but looked back when the presence commented, “She’ll be waking up soon. Chao-Ahn.”</p>
<p>“You can leave her out of this” Giles told it. “Speak to me.”</p>
<p>“The poor girl. And the other one, too: the one you’re going to meet? So young, to be dealing with all this.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t wrong. Chao-Ahn hadn’t been aware of her status as a potential, and nor had Ushi, the girl they were journeying to collect now. The First had started with those already under the council’s protection. The ones who’d had some training.</p>
<p>The First added, “They must be terrified.”</p>
<p>“I think they’ll surprise you.”</p>
<p>“I don’t get surprised” it replied, “Not anymore” For a moment, Giles thought it was speaking for itself, but then it added, “Not since Willow…well, did what she did.”</p>
<p>“Do stop playacting, can’t you? I know you’re not her.”</p>
<p>“She’s dangerous, Mr Giles.” Tara’s stolen face shifted into a rare determined expression. “I love her but…no-one should have that sort of power.”</p>
<p>Privately, Giles was worried it might be right, but he shoved the thought aside: after all, who was he going to put his trust in? Willow or the First Evil?</p>
<p>It added, “It’s gone too far: she needs to be stopped. And then she can be with me. She can be at peace.”</p>
<p>“You say she’s dangerous” Giles replied, “and I agree: dangerous, that is, for you. Or else why bring her up?”</p>
<p>It promptly transformed again – and suddenly Drusilla sat before him. Giles couldn’t help but flinch.</p>
<p>An old-fashioned accent commented, “You’re not playing.”</p>
<p>“Excuse me if I don’t want to entertain evil incarnate.”</p>
<p>“I should have turned you. Given daddy someone to fence with.” A slender white hand came into view and Giles realised he’d broken eye contact again without meaning to. The hand hovered as if touching his knee, though he felt no pressure, and the voice went on, “You were entertaining then. All shrieks and sobs and pretty noises. We could have more of that, in time.”</p>
<p>Hard to suppress a shudder at that, but Giles managed it.</p>
<p>The First went on, “I see the truth. Being evil, I see it all the clearer. All bare and empty it is, all nasty secrets. When the last man is dead, the museum pieces will all still sit in their cases, waiting for the exhibit to open. All those old relics preserved for dead generations.”</p>
<p>Odd, but it was this that caused an insuppressible shudder; Giles thought of the British Museum, empty of visitors, distant growling as the collections gathered dust.</p>
<p>The First watched him closely with Drusilla’s dark eyes. “She’s dangerous even if you love her. Beloved children do terrible things all the time.” It tilted itself back with an expression of relish. “I can feel it.”</p>
<p>“Hardly surprising, that.” What it didn’t feel, Giles knew, was how much more people were than those twisted impulses. No point telling it that, of course.</p>
<p>“And they die. They die all the time.”</p>
<p>“I’m well aware of that.”</p>
<p>“I could have my Bringers block the track. No-one would know. People would say it was a derailment and no-one would know.”</p>
<p>Giles went very still. What to say? The First couldn’t be reasoned with, wasn’t interested in bargaining. Ought he to stand, ready to shield Chao-Ahn? Or would that provoke it?</p>
<p>He felt his whole body relax as the First burst out laughing. “Just kidding!” Ethan was back. Ethan – not Ethan – laughed for the time it took Giles to steady his breathing and then added, “Don’t worry, old man, the Bringers are miles away. They beat you to it, actually.” It smiled as that sank in: <em>They beat you to it</em>. There would be no second girl, no potential other than Chao-Ahn returning with him to California; the Bringers were already at Ushi’s door.</p>
<p>The First slipped back into Jenny’s form. “Just something to think about” it told him, as it rose from its fake seated position to leave. “Sweet dreams, England.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Overwrought as he was, Giles couldn’t help but flinch when he opened the motel room door to find his mother standing by the bed. She – it – greeted him with, “Oh Rupert. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“No, you’re not” he replied. He could only assume that the First was delighted that Buffy was unlikely to ever trust him again. This was what it had wanted all along, and, like a fool, he had brought it about.</p>
<p>He had failed his slayer. He had failed to trust her. Except she wasn’t really his slayer anymore, was she?</p>
<p>The First, still in his mother’s form, told him, “You did the right thing, you know.”</p>
<p>Giles hung up his coat, locked the door and checked the locks. His heartrate was steadily increasing at the bizarre experience of hearing his long dead mother speak, and at the horrible knowledge that it wasn’t really her. Behind him, his mother – his mother’s stolen voice – added, “That trigger could have been used to turn the vampire into a weapon at any time. And all those girls in the house. I can’t for the life of me understand why your slayer wouldn’t let you disable it.”</p>
<p>“Nor I” Giles admitted without turning around. He studied the woodgrain of the door, working his way up to facing his mother’s pseudo-ghost.</p>
<p>There was something oddly liberating about agreeing with the First Evil, with not fighting hopelessly against it for a change. Clearly it was aware of this because it offered, “You should try again.”</p>
<p>Giles simply shook his head: the trigger was neutralised now. And Buffy believed Spike to be no threat without it. Perhaps she was right.</p>
<p>“Well I don’t understand it.” Good Lord it, sounded so much like his mother. <em>Right down to her perfume</em>, Woods had said. But Giles’ mother hadn’t worn perfume and instead had smelt of talcum powder, tea-bread and freshly cut grass.</p>
<p>“Couldn’t you try talking to her again?” His mother’s voice asked. “Tell her how much danger those poor girls are in?”</p>
<p>“There’s no point. As you likely well know. You’re just here to torment me.” He turned in time to see a sad smile on his mother’s face. She – it – replied, “Oh, but if I wanted to do that, I would have worn this.” And her face blurred horrifically, and she stretched and widened, until Angelus was in front of him again. Giles sighed and leaned back against the door. The sight of his torturer actually hurt less – a slip up on the First’s part which he wasn’t about to share with it.</p>
<p>“Nice work by the way” Angelus’ voice told him. It giggled. “You know, I really should have thought of that. Gotten Dru to hypnotise one of your little scoobies into killing another. It’s pure gold.” It eyed him appraisingly. “I should have turned you. You’re bad enough with a soul.”</p>
<p>“And you’re pathetic enough without one.” Giles walked through it to slump down on the bed.</p>
<p>“You want to talk about pathetic?” It wasn’t Angelus’ voice now and Giles looked up sharply to see Weatherby, of all people, standing with his hands on his hips. “Pathetic is how badly your so-called plan panned out. Pathetic is you tiptoeing around your slayer’s love-stuck stupidity and trying to patch things up with her when you get caught.”</p>
<p>“I see being dead hasn’t improved your temperament” Giles replied mildly. Actually, he hadn’t known for certain that anyone from the Special Operations unit were dead: they were frequently away from HQ and certainly capable of going to ground.</p>
<p>“Screw her, I say” Weatherby spat, the incorporeal spit not hitting anything. He’d always been a spitter, had Weatherby. Giles remembered an occasion when he was ten or so, and had been caned for gobbing on the patio at Giles’ parents’ Christmas party. Even then, it had been painfully clear the boy would be good for nothing but thuggery, would be channelled along the assassin route that the Council left open to the family throwbacks ill-suited to academia.</p>
<p>And now Weatherby was pacing the room, glowering. “You realise we don’t need her?”</p>
<p><em>We</em>, as though another watcher really were here. And really, hadn’t that hope been what had drawn him to Wood? Giles was distracted enough to let the First continue: “One slayer dies, and another is called. You shouldn’t have gone after the vampire. Go after the deviant who fucked it.”</p>
<p>“Kill Buffy? Hardly a promising battle tactic, that. Killing our slayer.”</p>
<p>“Not your only slayer. And whichever girl was called next, you could have them stake William the Bloody for their first act.”</p>
<p>“And quite possibly their last. Leaving us with a second dead slayer and you not needing to even attack to get us there.”</p>
<p>“Like I said, Rupert: one buys it, another rises. But it wouldn’t come to that; you’d catch the vampire unawares. Catch your slayer unawares too – that’s your safest bet. Get in there while she’s asleep.”</p>
<p>Giles shuddered. Shook his head. “I’ll not harm Buffy. You really are wasting your time with this one.”</p>
<p>“What, you’re sentimental <em>now</em>? Pathetic, like I said.” It paced again, spun to add, “It’s not like she trusts you now anyway. The father-daughter act’s over. So you might as well.”</p>
<p>“It was already over” Giles replied, though his emotions squirmed in the deep recesses of his mind where he’d been keeping them lately.</p>
<p>“So that’s it, then? You’re facing the First with a disobedient slayer, a murderess slayer and a trigger-happy vampire by your side? Sounds like the start of a joke, that. And not a funny one.” As Giles opened his mouth to retort, the First changed, became Randall. Randall in his too-big coat this time, the one that had made him look small. “I know, I know. You’re going to tell me that I’m the First, that I’m just trying to undermine you lot. But have you thought about this Ripper – maybe I just don’t want it to be too easy. Overrunning the world with no fight – where’s the fun in that?” It smiled; the slightly mean smile Randall had just started to utilise before he never smiled again. “Just something to think about. Sweet dreams.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The heavens split just before Giles got home, unloading a hammering of rain across the city. Shutting the door to his flat, he shed his soaked coat and hung it up, slipped off his shoes. Allowed himself to simply stand for a moment and let another stressful day seep away.</p>
<p>Really, he ought to be pleased to be so busy; with more watchers than he’d first hoped coming out from hiding over the last year, running the new Council was a demanding job. Not quite watchers, really; most were trainees too young to have been at that final meeting, retirees too old or frail or – in a few cases – disinclined to disrupt their golf practice to make it in that day, and watchers from the remotest of regions. In other words, they were a collection those who’d come into the job with new ideas just as Willow’s spell changed everything, those whose entire lives had been dictated by ancient tradition and those who’d been left for years to simply get on with it however they saw fit in Mongolia, or the Amazon, or remote parts of Africa. Trying to balance all their viewpoints was, well, trying.</p>
<p>Remote Africa was where Willow was now. Giles reminded himself to check his emails – he now had a life in which emails needed to be checked – to see if she’d written to him today. Not all that likely; she was taken up with exploring her newly asserted power and her enthusiasm about email seemed to be declining. She was, according to Kennedy, growing more self-contained by the day, and Giles couldn’t tell from the vantage point of miles away and sterile words on a screen, whether that was a good thing or a bad one. There was no precedent, after all: no one human had had the power Willow now wielded.</p>
<p>He hoped she was remembering her sun cream.</p>
<p>He made his way to the living room, checking the answer machine hopefully on the way. No messages: Xander was only marginally better at keeping in touch than Willow, and Buffy, considerably worse. At least Dawn was consistent, writing him a dutiful yet slang-riddled letter each fortnight from her prep school dorm room.</p>
<p>Easing himself into an armchair, Giles sat up again at a noise in the kitchen. “Hello?” Stupid to say anything, he realised: probably nothing there, and if there was, nothing friendly. He got to his feet.</p>
<p>Fell back into the chair as the First, in the shape of Ethan Rayne, casually sauntered through the doorway, tea in hand. “Hello, Ripper.”</p>
<p>“You –” Giles’ heartrate increased suddenly and exponentially. “What the hell are you doing here?”</p>
<p>“I came to sell you some books. And nice to see you too, by the way.”</p>
<p>“B…books?” He had to be losing his mind, Giles realised, distantly. It was the only explanation. The First couldn’t be back. Not now. Not so soon.</p>
<p>“Yes, and rare ones at that.” Ethan – not Ethan – nodded to a small and previously unnoticed stack of books set on a side table across the room. “I thought they’d do for your new library. But I can take them elsewhere if you’re just going to stare at me like I’ve got two heads. Look, are you quite well, old man? Rupert?”</p>
<p>With a wrench, Giles tore his gaze from the thing, studied the carpet. “Get out.”</p>
<p>The First sighed. From the corner of his eye, Giles could see it dither, glancing back to the books. “And here was me half expecting a hug this time” it mused. “It has been four years. Nearly five, you realise that?”</p>
<p>“I said get out.” It <em>had</em> been nearly five years since Ethan’s death, Giles realised. That was, assuming he’d died straight away. Giles hoped so; didn’t like to think of him being a prisoner for months, or God forbid, years. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” Why couldn’t the blasted thing have stayed away?</p>
<p>The First sighed again, and tilted its head, still visible at the periphery of Giles’ vision. “Is this about the fyarl thing? Bloody hell, Ripper, but you can hold a grudge. And you did turn me into a cat once, let’s not forget.”</p>
<p>He had. Giles shuddered. At least fyarls couldn’t be run over or eaten. He’d sent Ethan to die over less than he’d done himself in the name of youthful hijinks.</p>
<p>The First shrugged. “Well, fuck you then. Not literally, more’s the pity. But at least look at the books, can’t you?” It sipped its tea.</p>
<p>It. Sipped. Its. Tea. Giles lifted his head to stare at it openly again. The tea. The mug. <em>His</em> mug in its – in Ethan’s – hand.</p>
<p>The books – the solid looking books on his side table. The dent its feet were making in the plush carpet. It didn’t have shoes, Giles realised. Ethan – or whatever this was – didn’t have shoes and the only thing he could manage to say in the face of mounting confusion was, “Where are your shoes?”</p>
<p>With a puzzled frown, Ethan (it? Ethan?) nodded to the wall between the kitchen and the living room. Kicked against them, one upright and one on its side, were a pair of expensive looking suede shoes. The thing (Ethan? The First? His hallucination?) stepped aside as Giles went over to them, and that wasn’t a good sign was it, for it to be avoiding being brushed past like that? Not that he was coming off as particularly stable, Giles realised distantly, as he crouched to examine the footwear.</p>
<p>They were solid. Real shoes, bright suede well brushed but spotted with rain. A little dented and dirty inside as though they’d been regularly worn. These weren’t his own. And, Giles knew, they weren’t a detail his mind would think up if it decided to play tricks on him. No, these were real shoes, kicked off by a real man who’d just helped himself to real tea from Giles’ kitchen. Ethan was alive.</p>
<p>Ethan was alive and barefoot in Giles’ living room, staring at Giles. Giles stood and stared back at him. “You’re Ethan.”</p>
<p>“Yes, well, someone’s got to be. Rupert, what on earth’s gotten into you?”</p>
<p>Giles let out a shaky laugh. “It’s just… God, Ethan.” He stepped forward, suddenly and placed his hands on Ethan’s shoulders and then his arms. Then the sides of his face. Ethan, wide eyed, stayed quiet and let him. After a few moments of careful touching and prodding on Giles’ part and bewildered stillness on Ethan’s, Ethan asked, “Rupert? What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“I’m…” <em>Fondling you</em>, Giles realised. <em>Albeit not very romantically. </em>He stopped himself. “Sorry.”</p>
<p>“Are you quite well, old man?”</p>
<p>“I…yes. Won’t you sit down?”</p>
<p>Ethan sat in the armchair Giles indicated. “So. Books.”</p>
<p>Giles stayed standing, stayed staring. “How are you not dead?”</p>
<p>Ethan seemed to swallow his sales pitch. After a solemn pause he replied, “You know me, Ripper: I always land on my feet. Like a cat.”</p>
<p>“I saw you…the First…I thought you were dead.”</p>
<p>“And you cared? I’m touched. And I’m sure there’s a pun in there somewhere, given the pat-down you just gave me.”</p>
<p>Giles sank to the sofa, not taking his eyes off Ethan. “The First was in your form. You were dead, Ethan, how…” What had he done? Given more of his power over to Chaos? Sold his soul to Janus?</p>
<p>But Ethan looked awkward rather than defiant. “Oh that.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Well it wasn’t much to speak of. I just remember passing out and when I woke up, I was hooked up to oxygen and they were talking defibrillators.”</p>
<p>“Oh Ethan.” It crossed Giles’ mind to say sorry. But sorry wouldn’t be adequate.</p>
<p>“Well, I told you it wasn’t much to speak of. I’d have liked it to be magic but no: just good, old-fashioned CPR.” Ethan took a sip of his tea. “The magic came later.”</p>
<p>“When you escaped?” Giles leaned forward, eager for details that might make Ethan’s presence feel more like something real than something that happening simply because he wanted it to be.</p>
<p>Ethan nodded. “Yes. Not a story for this audience, I suspect.”</p>
<p>“No – I’d like to hear it.”</p>
<p>Ethan regarded him cautiously. “You won’t bring your council crashing down on me if you don’t like it?”</p>
<p>Giles shook his head firmly. Ethan drew a deep breath and let it out with: “Alright then.” He took his time finishing his tea, then set the mug down on the coffee table. “Well, they gave me the latest in a series of cell mates and this one was a chaos demon. Can you believe I’d never actually met one before? Anyway, they’d been draining everyone’s magic; they had this technique…” Ethan trailed off, looking grave. Giles judged it best not to press him. He wished he could see whatever Ethan was seeing right now, which was certainly not Giles’ living room, whatever it was. After a moment, Ethan collected himself went on: “But with the two of us each having some residual magic, and it being chaos magic in both our cases, we were able to pool it. We took turns chanting. I don’t know how long for. Seemed like the best part of a day. But eventually Janus opened the doors.”</p>
<p>“The door to your cell” Giles finished.</p>
<p>“To all the cells” Ethan clarified. “Some of them had some very interesting things inside.”</p>
<p>Giles nodded again, the implication settling. “Did any other humans get out alive?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t see any other humans in there” Ethan said lightly. “But those monsters in white coats all went the way karma dictated.” He frowned. “The same can’t be said of me, of course. But then, I have Janus’ favour.”</p>
<p>Now that was an interesting comment, Giles thought: almost as though Ethan acknowledged that he had tallied up some bad deeds over the years. Not that anything justified what had apparently been happening to him. “Ethan, if I’d known what they were doing to you –”</p>
<p>“You’d have swept in to rescue me like a knight in shining tweed?”</p>
<p>“Well, yes.”</p>
<p>“Hm. You’d have been promptly detained or shot, of course. But still, it’s a nice image. I’ll file it away for future wanking.”</p>
<p>“I’d have found a way. And I’d forgotten what a dirty old git you can be.”</p>
<p>Ethan grinned. But then the grin wavered and he said, “I just assumed you knew what they were doing to us.”</p>
<p>Giles was dismayed. “You thought I’d let that happen, if I knew?”</p>
<p>Ethan shrugged. The silence stretched. Finally, Giles decided nothing could be gained from picking at this wound, so he asked, “What have you been doing since you, um, got out?”</p>
<p>Ethan shrugged again. “Well I had to regain my power. Most of that was crystal healing and a lot of meditation, all very dull. I did treat myself to the odd spa day. But actually, I’ve decided I don’t like spas anymore. The walls are too white and people keep putting their hands on you.” There was an uncomfortable pause, and then Ethan brightened. “And then I wanted to make sure no-one left in the know about that place had any records on me. That took months of tedious research, a few memory charms, a few compulsion hexes. And after that it was just the same old, really. Places to go, chaos to spread.”</p>
<p>“Books to steal.”</p>
<p>“Yes – would you like to look at them?”</p>
<p>Giles got up and went over to the side table. There were five books, two of them slim volumes of maps showing mystical happenings and known hellmouths, another two, books of spells. The fifth was written in Slovaal demon hieroglyphics and appeared to be bound with dragon hide. Giles stroked its spine. “This can’t be –”</p>
<p>“Yes it can” Ethan joined him in admiring it.</p>
<p>“The Almanack of the Slovaalian Dimensions. But…the last copy was in the old Council’s library.”</p>
<p>“That’s what they thought.” Ethan backed away and sat down again. “So. Ten thousand for the lot? Keep in mind, that one really is the last one, what with the council gone up to the big gentlemen’s club in the sky. Did I tell you how sorry I am about that by the way?” It was hard to tell if he was being sincere or not. Actually, Giles wondered if even Ethan knew. On one hand, Ethan had to know that he’d lost loved ones, on the other, perhaps Ethan thought he deserved a bit of pain. He went over to his desk for his cheque book. “I take it a cheque is alright?”</p>
<p>“Oh – we’re not going to haggle? Alright then; cheque is fine.”</p>
<p>“Think of it as compensation.” Giles hastily filled the cheque in, throwing in a bonus. Really, a part of him would rather Ethan thought of it as an apology, but Giles knew money was no substitute for that, and the words still eluded him. What could he say? I’m sorry I handed you over to people I knew were unaccountable and brutal and who went on to steal your magic and poison you and you’ve spent what sounds like years trying to recover? It was too extreme a transgression to be simply laid out like that.</p>
<p>Giles handed the cheque over. Ethan studied it without comment and folded it, tucked it away in a pocket.</p>
<p>Giles sat down again, suddenly aware that with the transaction concluded, Ethan had no reason to stay. He asked, “So, are you back in London for good?”</p>
<p>“Pretty much.”</p>
<p>“Where abouts?”</p>
<p>Ethan shook his head. “I tend to keep where I’m staying pretty confidential these days. I’ll think about letting you know if I go a good long time without council toughs looking for me.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t send anyone after you. Not after…” Giles let the words die. He told Ethan, “I’m sorry about, err, patting you down earlier. If you’re not comfortable with that anymore.” At Ethan’s questioning frown, he added, “You, um, you said you didn’t like people putting their hands on you at the spa.”</p>
<p>“Oh that. Well, your hands don’t count.” Ethan nodded to the books. “I hope they’re useful. Just, you know, not too useful.”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t want to be seen to be helping the Council” Giles guessed.<br/>“There are still a few disrespectable haunts where I’d like to be able to show my face, yes.” Ethan straightened in his chair and then stood, went to slip his shoes back on. “But I reasoned you’d agree a good price. And you’ve no qualms about dealing with an old ne’er do well like me?”</p>
<p>“On the contrary” Giles rose to see him out, “An old ne’er do well with connections in the underworld might be a very useful ally for the new council.”</p>
<p>“And having the ear of the new watcher’s council could be handy” Ethan nodded. “We must do this again sometime, Rupert.” He offered Giles his hand. Giles made to shake it but then looked past him to the rain still sweeping the window pane. “Stay” he offered, “Have a drink. Give the weather a chance to clear up.”</p>
<p>Ethan considered for a moment. “Alright. But no revenge spiking.”<br/>“Wouldn’t dream of it” Giles headed for his liquor cabinet and retrieved a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers. He returned to the sofa to pour two generous measures.</p>
<p>“It wouldn’t be very original, you know.” Ethan joined him on the sofa.</p>
<p>“Here” Giles handed him a drink. “And let’s drink to you not being dead. I’m really very glad about that, you know.”</p>
<p>Ethan rolled his eyes. “Well of course you are; it saves you a lot of guilt, and guilt was never a good look on you.” He clinked their glasses together. “Not to mention, I’m so lovable and charming.”</p>
<p>“I don’t have to drink to that too, do I?”</p>
<p>“I leave that up to you, Ripper.” Ethan grinned.</p>
<p>They were five drinks in by the time the rain stopped, and by then there was no question of Ethan leaving that night.</p>
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